Deck the Halls with Dolls
by Group Hugs For Everyone
Summary: Named Holly! Fa la la, la la la la. Tis the season to anti-villainish! Fa la la, la la la la. Don we now our yuletide evilness! Fa la la, la la la la. Sharpen the blade and pick up the mind wipe! Fa la la, la la la laaaa!


_**A/N:** First Dollhouse fic, and I'm ever so proud that it has Topher and that it's Christmas. Topher is slightly OOC, but I needed him to be for purposes of the fic. This has a similar plot to my Criminal Minds x-mas fic, God Rest Ye BAU Members, so if you like CM and this I suggest reading it.  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Star Trek (-blinks-), juice boxes (-sniffles-), Whack-A-Mole (-sniffles harder-), Echo (-sigh-), Dolhouse (-cries a little-), or Topher (-sobs-).  
**Warning:** May bring Christmas spirit up or down, depending on the mood you're in and how you wish to view this fic. Ths has been an official warning. Don't say we didn't warn you, because we did. And, no, we don't even know who 'we' are. We're very sad by this fact. We think we're going to go cry now. We wish Christmas were here.  
**Pairing:** Echo/Ballard and, if you really want and squint your eyes while standing on your head like a Cheshire cat, Echo/Topher. I prefer Echo/Ballard but, eh, to each their own._

* * *

"Deck the halls," Topher Brink muttered under his breath, wishing for perhaps the only time in his life that he had something else rather than grape juice in those cute little boxes with the cartoons doodled over the bright exterior. He imagined, at the moment, that something was watching him. He never liked that feeling. See, Topher honestly hated it when a Doll would watch him as he worked, or one of their handlers would watch his frantic and somewhat odd jerky movements which always—yes, he meant always—made him a suspect to anything, or when Adelle would look at him fiercely whenever he did a bad—or good, in fact—job. But Topher decided that this stare was not dull and lifeless enough to be a Doll, or calculating enough to be a handler, or…foreign—yes, he'd go with foreign rather than British because, honestly, you can't _feel_ a British stare—enough to be Adelle.

In fact, it was like a mixture of the above and Topher really didn't like it. Topher took a deep breath, eyed the tinsel wrapping around his _Whack-A-Mole,_ and turned around. Ah, yes. Echo. Perfect. Wasn't she in solitary? Okay, wait. She's…close. Little too close, if you asked him. Really close. Like, personal space invasion from planet Vulcan—where'd the Star Trek come from?—close. She was…calculating him. God, he didn't like that. He, actually, wasn't even sure if he liked her in herself. Y'know…not Doll or Caroline but rather Echo. It was kinda scary, if you asked him.

"Why aren't you helping Agent Ballard?" Echo asked, dark eyes flitting over his face and making him self-conscious. He let out a fake, nervous chuckle that made Echo's stare increase.

"DeWitt." He laughed nervously again, hand flying up to point at nothing and bob up and down. "She, uh, well, it's Christmas, and she said to let him wait for now."

"So you're gonna let him die?" Echo turned after him, her voice raising a decibel.

"No!" Topher shouted, a bit too quickly, as his eyes trained on Ballard. "No, I-I wouldn't let anything happen…I mean, he's not gonna die. He's not dead. Well, brain dead, but that's not the point and—you're making me nervous." He concluded, sinking into a swivel chair and sucking furiously on his juice box while glaring at twinkling lights.

Echo grew quiet for a moment, and Topher began to fidget before she spoke. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, but I'm worried. What if he doesn't live?"

"He'll live," Topher nodded before scoffing. He pointed around his 'office', making Echo glance at the decorations. "I mean, it's Christmas. Time for a miracle, right?"

"You're making fun of it." It was a statement, not a question, and it was almost Doll-like the way she said it.

"Yeah," Topher sighed. "Yeah, I am."

"Why?"

Topher glanced up, taking his turn to eye Echo suspiciously. He was only slightly disappointed when his gaze revealed nothing. She was still stone cold as a Doll. He looked away, contemplating whether it was serious time or whether he could get away with rambling a mile a minute and evading the question. For some reason, he figured he couldn't.

"I don't know. Something about Christmas is just…different. Odd. I used to love it, y'know? Wake up, pop downstairs, see if Santa brought me that science kit I always wanted." He glanced up quickly, and almost got exasperated when he still saw no emotion on Echo's face. "Eventually, I grew out of that. And suddenly, Christmas didn't hold that magical spark anymore."

"When did you grow out of it?"

Topher sighed, running a hand over his face. "I don't—" He stopped as Echo cleared her throat and sighed again. What could he say? He was caught. "After I joined."

Quietly, Echo pulled up another swivel chair and sat next to him. "They do that a lot, don't they? Suck the life, the magic, out of people. Out of things. It doesn't matter if you're a Doll, a handler, a doctor, or a tech. They just…do. It's like their secret power, hurting people. They ruin lives, Topher Brink. And I got to salvage what's left of them. And you can help me." She looks up, and there are tears in her eyes. Topher blinks, wondering why his own cheeks feel cold and wet.

"I don't know how." His voice is despairing; he wonders how it got so hoarse and broken.

"Neither do I. Not yet, anyway. But I'll figure it out, and we'll save Ballard. We'll save the Dolls, we'll save you." Echo smiles brightly, sarcastically, even. "We'll save Christmas."

Topher grins, reaching over the console and picking up another juice box, handing it to her. Gently, he knocks them together. "To Christmas."

She nods, "And to its miracles."

Maybe Christmas isn't all that bad.


End file.
